How I Met Your Grandmother
by Princess Sammi
Summary: A grandmother tells her youngest granddaughter an important story. HB/Drill
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. I only own my OC.**

 **A/N: The systems were down at work during the weekend so I had some time to do some writing. *Yay* This is sort of based on 'How I Met Your Mother' but won't be nearly as complex because let's face it that was some clever show (notwithstanding the writers breaking up my Swarkles OTP!) Constance and Imogen will likely meet early on and it will be more a story of how they got together, possibly with a few pre-meeting flashbacks thrown in for good measure.**

 ***May edit later on***

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 **How I Met Your Grandmother**

 **Chapter 1**

Darcey let out a shriek as she lost her balance and toppled off the chest of drawers that she had been standing on in order to reach the top shelf of the wardrobe. Landing with a harsh thud, she swore quietly under her breath, before taking a look around the room at the additional mess she had now created. In a bid to save herself from falling, she had grabbed onto the nearest thing. The nearest thing of course being the shelf itself and, as she had lost the final battle of the equilibrium, she had taken a pile of books and papers tumbling to the ground with her.

With a sigh, she set about gathering up the books so they could go away when, suddenly, something caught her eye. Amongst the classic novellas and old newspapers was a slightly bashed shoebox. Its lid had somehow become dislodged in the fall and, as a result, its contents were now splayed across the carpet.

Letters.

There was a whole pile of them. Each addressed to the recipient in the same — somewhat effortless — calligraphic style.

She traced the elegant lettering with her finger, almost feeling the sheer love emanating through in just the twirl of that one word on the envelope.

Darcey knew that it was wrong to invade someone else's privacy but she had inherited her father's nosiness (or the art of being interested as he liked to refer to it) and, as the letters had already been opened, she reasoned that one could argue she wasn't * _technically*_ doing anything wrong. Pulling a random one from the pile before she could change her mind again, she unfolded it and began to read.

 _'My darling'_

Almost as if on cue, her grandmother appeared at the door, her sudden presence startling the teenager.

"Darcey, honey, I heard a clatter," the older woman explained, "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay?"

"Yes, thank you, Granny. I was putting away those boxes you had asked me to and I sort of lost my balance. It's okay though, I don't think I've broken anything."

The young girl trailed off upon noticing that her grandmother was no longer listening to her. Instead, the older woman's eyes were now focused on the letters. Her gaze trailing along the floor before finally coming to rest on the one that was still in her granddaughter's hand. Darcey could feel the blush of guilt creeping into her skin and wished in that moment that she could just disappear into thin air.

"Sorry, Granny, they just fell out the box and I…erm," she trailed off, not really knowing how to explain herself. Strangely enough though, her granny didn't seem to be particularly angry with her. In fact, if anything, she seemed rather wistful.

"It's alright dear, please don't fret. I'm not angry at you. It's just…its been a while since I've seen those letters; takes me back is all... "

"Are they from Granny Constance?"

Imogen Drill's eyes clouded over as she nodded, a breath of sadness surrounding her as it always did whenever anyone mentioned her late wife.

Darcey hadn't the chance to meet her other grandmother. Sadly, Constance Hardbroom-Drill nee Hardbroom had died not long before she was born and, in the circle of life, just as it was time for her to enter the world, it was time for the once mighty sorceress to leave the earthly plane. She may not have had the chance to meet her but from what she had heard, her granny had sounded like a truly wonderful woman: powerful, intelligent, graceful — not to mention incredibly beautiful: porcelain skin, full lips, long dark hair that streamed down her back, cascading like an inky waterfall. She had seen the picture of her grandparents on their wedding day and what stood out most was the absolute love that was reflected in both their eyes.

"You still miss her, don't you?"

"I do, sweetie, and I always will. Your granny was the love of my life but its like we've always told you and your siblings: she's looking down on us all and watching what's going on."

 _'Still omniscient even in death,'_ Imogen thought to herself.

Sensing that her granddaughter wanted to ask a question but was holding back, she gently prompted her, eventually coaxing from her what she wanted to know.

"Do you think she would have liked me?"

"There is not a shadow of doubt in my mind, Darcey, that she would have absolutely adored you. She hid it well — possibly too well at times — but she had such a big heart and so much love to give."

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of the clock before Imogen once again broke the silence.

"Your mum phoned earlier by the way. They were hoping to set off not long ago so they should be back in about 8 or so hours, give or take. I've told them not to rush back and just enjoy the drive up; maybe even stop for a nice lunch."

Oldest daughter Faith and her husband, Tony, had been away for the weekend, celebrating their anniversary so young Darcey had been stopping over at her granny's house. She didn't mind it at all. In fact, as far as she was convinced, her granny was the best thing since sliced bread, and even now she was in her mid teens and getting 'too cool' to be hanging out with her, her opinion hadn't changed in the slightest. She doubted it ever would.

"Your parents are so lucky, I hope you know that. Not many people meet the love of their life at such a young age and certainly not in the 'eyes meet across the crowded room' kind of way; that kind of thing only happens in the movies."

"Granny?", Darcey asked after another few minutes had passed, "Did you love Granny Constance when you first saw her?"

"Not quite darling," Imogen said, suppressing a smile as she began to gather up the letters all except the one the young girl was holding. "Not quite."

Seeing the quizzical look on her granddaughter's face, she sighed.

"Tell you what, since we've still got a good while until your mum and dad are back, why don't we head downstairs, make some hot chocolate and I'll tell you the story."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. I only own my OC.**

 **A/N: Thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter. :) Got some time off *yay for Easter weekend* so finally gotten around to doing some writing (and also catching up with other people's ff!)**

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 **How I Met Your Grandmother**

 **Chapter 2**

"Alright, here we are," Imogen Drill said as she carefully set the tray down on the coffee table, handing Darcey her hot chocolate before reaching for her own cup of tea.

"Thanks, Granny."

"You're welcome, pet."

There was silence between the generations for a few moments as Imogen wondered where best to start.

 _'Right at the beginning, I guess...'_

"So," she began, addressing her granddaughter, "How much do you know?"

"Not a lot really," the teen explained as she broke a chocolate chip cookie in half, "Just that you and Granny Constance met and fell in love and stuff."

"Well, _technically_ , that is what happened but I gather you want to know the whole story?"

Darcey nodded eagerly, offering half of the cookie she had just broken to her Granny who politely declined.

"Right," Imogen stalled as she began to recall a story she hadn't told anyone in years, "Well, as I told you earlier, it wasn't exactly love at first sight..."

* * *

 ** _Imogen Drill looked up in awe at the castle which stood before her. From the missing roof tiles to the crumbling stonework, its age was clear to see, but it was still mightily impressive; standing tall and proud with an almost hidden air of grandeur about it._**

 _'So, this is a witch school…'_

 ** _She had to admit that it didn't exactly look like a school for teenage witches - not that she had ever considered what a school for teenage witches would look like. Hell, she hadn't considered even the notion that such a school existed in the first place!_**

 ** _That such a world existed!_**

 ** _When her aunt's friend had first told her about the opening for a teaching position in a "special" type of school, and had then gone onto explain exactly what she meant by "special", Imogen had thought she was joking (the unfortunate fact that it had been April Fool's Day hadn't exactly helped matters...). As it turned out though, the woman had been deadly serious. And so, here she was, standing outside something that looked as though it belonged in a fairytale._**

 ** _There was a huge part of her that still thought this was one big set-up at her expense and, any minute now, someone was going to appear from_** ** _nowhere, holding a video camera and sporting a 'gotcha!' expression!_**

 ** _Witches didn't exist!_**

 ** _Magic couldn't exist!_**

 ** _This was real life and, in real life, people couldn't just say 'Abracadabra', wiggle their fingers and solve all of their problems. It didn't work like that! Mores the pity..._**

 ** _The voice in her head was telling her that there was still time to walk away but her conscience quickly got the better of her. After all, Cynthia had gone to such an effort in setting the interview up, and after another three rejection letters only that morning, she knew she had no real options as her debts - and problems - continued to mount._**

 ** _As the saying went, beggars couldn't be choosers._**

 ** _At the end of the day, what did she really have left to lose?_**

 ** _She allowed herself a small moment to wallow in self-pity. She had loved her previous job and she had been damn good at it. The only mistake she had made was getting involved with her co-worker - a co-worker who happened to be the son of her boss! (Oh, yes, that was a pretty major screw up! )As things had turned sour, it had become clear that they could no longer work together and, so, she had no choice but to walk, preferably before she was pushed!_**

 ** _"Excuse me," a sharp voice suddenly echoed in her ear, making her jump. The owner was clearly very light on her feet as Imogen hadn't even heard her approaching, "May I help you?"_**

 ** _"I'm Imogen Drill, I-" Imogen swallowed, trying to hide her nerves, knowing she only had one shot at getting this job, "I've got an appointment to see Miss…um..." she trailed off into silence, feeling the burn of hot embarrassment; her cheeks reddening as she struggled to recall the name of her interviewer._**

 _'Great way to make a first impression, Imogen'_

 _ **"**_ ** _…Cackle?"_**

 ** _The woman standing before her did not look impressed in the slightest and the blonde prayed to the gods that she was not the woman in question or she may as well give up and go home now._**

 ** _"Are you asking me or telling me?"_**

 ** _If this was a fairytale then this woman was definitely the wicked stepmother - or maybe the evil queen!_**

 ** _She was tall and willowy, her entire figure encased in a black leather gown and Imogen couldn't help but wonder how she wasn't melting under the intensity of the sun. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown; her cheekbones well-sculpted and her lips were full. Her hair had been pulled into a tight and seemingly intricate bun but she could guess that, when loose, it was probably quite long. She was certainly a beauty, there was no denying that, but there was something in her demeanour which screamed she was not a woman to mess with._**

 ** _As she realised what she was doing, Imogen internally scolded herself for breaking her own golden rule:_** ** _Her grandmother had raised her not to judge people before she got a chance to know them and it was a rule she had always stuck to. For all she knew, the woman standing before her could be the nicest on the planet..._**

 ** _She flushed again, realising that she had yet to answer the question._**

 ** _"Telling you?"_**

 ** _The mysterious woman arched an eyebrow; the intensity of her stare causing Imogen to shrink back in fear._**

 ** _"Telling you," she said quietly, clearing her throat before repeating herself. "Yes, I'm telling you. I'm here to interview for the role of PE teacher."_**

 ** _The brunette regarded her for a few moments, discreetly sizing her up. This was a stupid idea of the headmistress' to integrate a more… modern perspective into witchcraft. Personally, she didn't see what was so wrong in letting the girls continue with their flying practice and walks out to gather herbs. Physical Education may have been fine for normal girls at normal schools, but these were witches! Girls came to Cackles Academy to study the art of witchcraft - not to learn how to play hockey and other unless sports! What top magical_** ** _institution would be impressed with that?_**

 ** _Why, if anyone had even mentioned so much as the notion of PE at school when she was younger,_** ** _Broomhead would have given you hell to pay…_**

 ** _Suppressing a shudder and pushing all thoughts of her ex-tutor aside, she turned her attentions back to the young, arguably attractive, blonde who was standing in front of her._**

 ** _"Very well then, follow me." With that she turned on her heel and headed towards the main entrance, striding down the corridor, with a confidence the blonde could only dream of having. As Imogen rushed to catch-up to her, the older woman stopped outside a door marked 'Headmistress', knocked sharply three times and waited, "Here you are."_**

 ** _"Thank you. Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"_**

 ** _"That would be because I've yet to give it to you. I'm Constance Hardbroom, deputy headmistress of Cackle's Academy."_**

 ** _"Pleased to meet you, I'm Imogen Drill," the_** ** _younger woman held out her hand as a means of introduction._**

 ** _The brunette looked down at the outstretched hand as though it carried some sort of disease,"I know, " she said pointedly, making no effort to reciprocate the gesture, "You already told me in the courtyard. I do hope that your 'abilities' aren't reflective of your attention span or we are in trouble, aren't we, Imogen Drill?"_**

 ** _Alright, so maybe she had been right the first time: this woman was a complete and utter bitch._**

 ** _Before she was able to retort, the door opened to reveal a short, plump woman with greying hair and kind eyes. "Ah, you must be Imogen Drill, I'm Amelia Cackle, headmistress of Cackle's Academy for Witches. Please, come in."_**

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 **"** Gosh, Granny!"

Darcey was torn between shock and hysterics - she had been told on more than one occasion that she had traits of her granny Constance's sharp tongue about her and it was something she was quite proud of - she felt it at least gave her some kind of connection to her late grandparent.

"How did you ever get to like each other, let alone fall in love and marry?"

"I've asked myself that same question, sweetie; many a time, but love is a funny thing."


End file.
